


Holding It (and Other Acquired Skills)

by anarchetypal



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Desperation, Desperation Play, M/M, Watersports, merry christmas here's some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:04:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchetypal/pseuds/anarchetypal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You gonna make it, dude?” Michael asks, laughing.</p>
<p>Ryan realizes he’s squirming in his chair. He forces himself to still, opens his mouth to brag about his amazing ability to go ten years without a bathroom break or whatever, but, “Probably not,” he says without thinking. “Good thing I’ve got a spare pair of jeans here, right?”</p>
<p>Michael blinks at him. There’s a few seconds of silence on the capture, a flat line that persists until Michael forces a laugh, but Ryan can see a faint flush on his face. There’s something sort of satisfying about that.</p>
<p>Except for the part where Michael seems to take it as a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding It (and Other Acquired Skills)

 It starts as a joke, Ryan thinks.

Because they can’t go longer than thirty seconds without making fun of somebody—that’s the basis of their comedy, Ryan’s found, and he gives as good as he gets, but it means the office is a veritable shark tank, everybody always searching for some blood in the water to exploit.

Ryan’s had about three and a half diet cokes over the past couple of hours. Not a record for him by any means, but today they’ve been recording a string of videos without stopping for a break, and. Well. You get the picture.

He doesn’t even realize he’s bouncing in his chair slightly until he hears Michael snicker. “You gonna be okay over there, Ryan?”

Ryan freezes. “What?”

“Ryan’s got a potty dance going on,” Michael informs the audience, leaning in close to his mic conspiratorially. “Let’s play ‘How long can this video go on before we have to suddenly pause for no particular reason?’”

“I can hold it,” Ryan says confidently, grinning a little bit, playing along because that’s how it works. “If there’s one skill this job has honed, it’s the skill of waiting several millennia between bathroom breaks.”

“Oh no,” Michael says suddenly, tone faux-upset. “I dropped all the supplies into the lava. Looks like we have to do that all over again. How long is that gonna take? Twenty minutes? Thirty?”

“Look,” Ryan says, “I’ve got a couple empty cans here, I can do what needs to be done, I’m not shy,” and grins at the group’s laughter.

It’s not until later that he realizes Michael’s gone kind of quiet.

——

And then it’s—something different. Something that’s not a joke.

Ryan almost doesn’t notice it at first, because they make about a thousand stupid jokes in every video, but he gets saddled with a bunch of editing, and that’s when he notices that Michael keeps bringing it up.

_Oh, shit, gotta do the whole heist over again. You sure you can wait that long, Ryan?_

_Whoa, Ryan, careful with that, that’s like your third diet coke._

_Hey, I’ve got an empty bottle over here if you need to let loose._

_I’m just saying, if you need to do your business, just turn off your mic. Or don’t. Somebody’s probably into that shit._

And the thing is, it’s not like they haven’t milked jokes in the past. Ryan’s lost count of the number of times somebody’s brought up the ‘still in the air’ thing.

Except.

Except this is a little more than that, isn’t it?

They haven’t—they haven’t _done_ anything like that before, alright, they’re not totally vanilla but Ryan’s got _standards_ , except. There’s been a few times after fucking where Michael’s latched himself to Ryan all sprawled out in bed and refused to let go no matter how much Ryan whines that he needs to _go_ , and he always seems to get a certain amount of joy out of not pulling over at a rest stop whenever they drive anyplace, and maybe those moments latched themselves to Ryan’s brain a little more than necessary, and maybe those moments had had the potential to ignite something within himself and he’d just tamped down on it, and—

And so it’s not a joke, Ryan thinks.

——

At first, he has absolutely no idea what to do with this sudden realization. They’re not really the type to sit down and have a long, drawn-out conversation about the weird things they like in the bedroom. Ryan wouldn’t even know where to begin.

And so eventually, Ryan does whatever he usually does when he’s at a loss about something, and maybe this is a testament to the nerd everyone always says he is, but. He pulls out his phone and starts to research.

…

Which turns out to be a _horrible mistake_ , because it only takes about four minutes before he’s sitting at his desk, lunch abandoned, red-faced and hot and mortified and—alright, maybe a little interested, except for the part where he’s in the _office_ during his _lunch break_ and, well, he’s alone but he probably should’ve waited to do this, that was a lack of foresight on his part—

“Ryan!” comes Michael’s voice, because of _course_ , because fate has decided he deserves to be the target of his boyfriend’s helpless laughter and teasing today, god damn it. Michael throws himself into the chair next to Ryan and Ryan forces himself to chug the entire bottle of water he brought with his lunch in an effort to cool himself down and give himself enough time to pretend like he wasn’t just looking up watersports on Google.

“What’s up?” Ryan croaks out when he’s finished.

Michael raises an eyebrow at him. “Gavin can’t record Play Pals with me this week,” he says eventually, seeming to shrug Ryan’s behavior off. “You wanna be a guest star?”

Well. It’s not like Ryan was going to finish his lunch anyway. “Sure, I can do that.”

And Ryan’s grateful for it, honestly, because it gives him something to think about that’s not the information he’d looked up or the way it’d made him feel or the way it’d made him reflect on all those times Michael had made him hold it and the way _that_ had made him feel.

Because, alright, maybe there’d been something a little thrilling about the desperation of it, about not being sure whether he’d actually be able to last or not, about considering, even for a second, what it would be like _not_ to be able to last. Not to be able to hold it, and the weird, hot shame that thought had provoked in him.

And so recording the video is a distraction from all that.

At least, it should be.

It only takes about ten minutes for Ryan to start regretting all the water he’d chugged down. And the water he’d had during the morning before that. And the diet cokes. And—

“You gonna make it, dude?” Michael asks, laughing.

Ryan realizes he’s squirming in his chair. He forces himself to still, opens his mouth to brag about his amazing ability to go ten years without a bathroom break or whatever, but, “Probably not,” he says without thinking. “Good thing I’ve got a spare pair of jeans here, right?”

Michael blinks at him. There’s a few seconds of silence on the capture, a flat line that persists until Michael forces a laugh, but Ryan can see a faint flush on his face. There’s something sort of satisfying about that.

Except for the part where Michael seems to take it as a challenge.

Ryan can see it just as plainly as he’d seen the blush rise on Michael’s cheeks, notices the sudden spark of interest and the smirk tugging at his mouth and, oh, he’s fucked, isn’t he.

Realistically, the recording should only take half an hour. Maybe forty minutes. But Michael keeps fucking up, keeps suggesting they try something else, do another take, and, god, Ryan’s really starting to feel it. He thanks whatever deity that’s chosen to throw some luck his way that no one has shown back up at the office, at meetings or filming something or taking a long lunch.

By the time they wrap up the recording, Ryan’s gone mostly quiet. He keeps shifting around in his chair and squeezing his legs together, and he’s about as aware of the way he’s blushing fiercely as he is of the way Michael won’t stop staring at him.

He lets out a relieved sigh when they finally end the recording—and regrets it immediately, has to tense back up with a whimper before he totally loses it, _god_ —and gets ready to make the trek out to the bathroom, except then Michael turns his chair to face him and puts his socked feet up in Ryan’s lap, and he has no right to look as innocent as he does right now.

“Michael,” Ryan says cautiously.

“You gotta go, Ry?” he asks, and it’s a rhetorical question, because Michael _knows_ , can’t stop watching the way Ryan squirms around.

Ryan’s clutching at the arms of his chair now, a whine working its way up his throat. He’s _hard_ , got there right towards the end of the recording, and that just makes everything better and worse, somehow. “I need— Let me up, I need—”

“You can make it a few more minutes,” Michael says, matter-of-factly, like he’s made the decision about it. He brings his eyes up to meet Ryan’s. “Right?”

And he can see the _Tell me if this isn’t okay_ in Michael’s eyes, and there’s a part of him that wants _so badly_ to just push Michael’s feet off him and rush to the bathroom before he really embarrasses himself, but. “Right,” he says shakily. He drops his gaze, feeling himself grow hotter. “Okay.”

What’s a few minutes, anyway?

A _lot_ , as it turns out, with Michael teasing him mercilessly the whole time. A few minutes is a century. Michael starts by shifting, stretching, ostensibly innocent except for the way that his right foot presses against Ryan’s lower stomach.

Ryan jolts, a whimper tearing out of him, blunt nails scraping the arms of his chair. “ _Fuck_ —”

“You’re okay,” Michael says soothingly. By some miracle, he gives Ryan a few seconds to pull himself together, pull himself back from the edge. “You’re okay. Breathe.”

And maybe he _would_ be okay, but Michael doesn’t stop there, moves to kneel between Ryan’s legs on the chair and presses against him again with strong, teasing fingers while he kisses Ryan, swallows all the desperate noises Ryan can’t keep in.

He’s going to lose it. There’s no way he’s not going to lose it.

Michael seems to see that in him. “You can go,” he says, and Ryan shifts to stand, but Michael smiles at him, holds him down by his shoulders.

Ryan’s brow furrows. “Michael?”

“You can go,” Michael says again.

And then Ryan gets it, realizes it as a wounded noise breaks through. Feels his cheeks flare bright red. Feels heat strike all the way through to his cock and squirms again under Michael’s hands as he shakes his head. “I can’t,” he gasps out. “Fuck, I can’t, I’m sorry, it’s too much—”

And Michael’s hushing him, leaning in to kiss him again, doesn’t break the kiss as he tugs Ryan out of his chair and pulls him out of the office by his belt loops. Ryan’s dazed by the time he pulls away, and helplessly desperate, and so hard it hurts.

“Here,” Michael says, at which point Ryan realizes they’re in front of the bathroom door, and Ryan nearly trips over himself in his haste to get inside.

He hears the door lock shortly after it swings shut. By then Ryan’s already got his cock out, but still tensed up like he doesn’t know how not to be at this point, and he glances over his shoulder, lets out a shaky sigh when he sees Michael stepping away from the door and moving to stand behind him, pressed against him, a warm weight at his back. He can feel the outline of Michael’s cock through his jeans and shivers.

“It’s okay,” Michael says, smiling, voice quiet, soothing. He hooks his chin over Ryan’s shoulder, wraps his arms around him, hands hanging just above Ryan’s cock, and Ryan’s hips jerk despite himself.

“I don’t think,” Ryan starts, shaky, struggling to get the words from his brain to his mouth, but it takes all his concentration not to let go. “I don’t, I don’t think I can—”

“It’s _okay_ ,” Michael says again, and suddenly, it is.

Ryan’s knees buckle a little as he finally, finally gives in, eyes shut, whole body trembling with it. He’s still hard, so it’s messy, but Michael just guides him through it, murmuring soft nonsense that shouldn’t make him feel better but does, somehow.

He shudders as he finishes, and it feels like his entire body is blushing. He lets himself lean back against Michael heavily, finally opening his eyes.

Before he can think too much about it—about what they just _did_ and about how they did it at the _office_ —Michael wraps a hand around his cock, hot and deliberate.

A choked swear tumbles out of him. “Oh, god, please,” he breathes, gives up on maintaining some semblance of office decency, just wants to _come_.

And Michael gets him there, jacks him slow, with teasing fingers, plays at the head of Ryan’s cock until Ryan’s begging, nearly in tears.

Michael takes pity, finally—or maybe he just knows people are gonna start showing up at the office again soon if they haven’t already—and strokes him off fast and hard, so sudden that Ryan shakes apart in seconds.

He gasps in the aftermath, struggles to catch his breath, to will what feels like a perpetual flush from his face. Michael kisses the side of his neck with a loud _smack_ and grins as he goes to wash his hands.

“So,” Michael says, steamrolling right over post-coital awkwardness. “That happened.”

“I hate you,” Ryan decides, but he’s already moving in to return the favor. “I _hate_ you, _warn_ a guy next time before you bring that weird, kinky shit into play at _work_.”

“I mean,” Michael says, “you started it,” but he’s grinning still as he pulls Ryan in to kiss him. “We’re okay, right?” he asks when he pulls away, gaze searching, serious.

“We’re okay,” Ryan echoes, tugging at Michael’s belt buckle. “We’re going to talk about this, like adults—”

Michael rolls his eyes, still smiling.

“—but not now, because we’re at the office.”

“Oh, what, talking about pissing’s too indecent, but getting me off in the bathroom is A-okay?”

“Well, I can just leave you like this, if you want,” Ryan says diplomatically.

“ _No_ , nope, get over here, you weird, kinky fuck.”

**Author's Note:**

> whoops i wrote watersports again somehow, blame ryanthepowerbottomguy
> 
> also check out my writing/inspiration blog at http://anarchetypal.tumblr.com/


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